


The Cup

by Nightdog_Barks



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Drama, Episode Related, Episode Tag, Family Drama, Gen, Historical, Holocaust, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-02-08
Updated: 2008-02-08
Packaged: 2017-10-18 05:01:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/185313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nightdog_Barks/pseuds/Nightdog_Barks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story from House's past leads to the solving of a puzzle in the present day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Cup

**Author's Note:**

> Written because I was curious about the background of a key bit of knowledge exhibited by House in the episode. 1,045 words; a few source notes at the end.

_**Houseficlet: The Cup**_  
 **STATUS:** Crossposted to [](http://housefic.livejournal.com/profile)[**housefic**](http://housefic.livejournal.com/) 2/8/08.  
 **TITLE:** The Cup  
 **AUTHOR:** [](http://nightdog-writes.livejournal.com/profile)[**nightdog_writes**](http://nightdog-writes.livejournal.com/)  
 **CHARACTERS:** House, Blythe House, and House's grandmother.  
 **RATING:** PG-13.  
 **WARNINGS:** None.  
 **SPOILERS:** Yes, a very small one for episode 4.12, "Don't Ever Change."  
 **SUMMARY:** A story from House's past leads to the solving of a puzzle in the present day.  
 **DISCLAIMER:** Don't own 'em. Never will.  
 **AUTHOR NOTES:** Written because I was curious about the background of a key bit of knowledge exhibited by House in the episode. 1,045 words; a few source notes at the end.  
 **BETA:** A drive-by by my intrepid First Readers, with especial thanks to [](http://leiascully.livejournal.com/profile)[**leiascully**](http://leiascully.livejournal.com/) and [](http://deelaundry.livejournal.com/profile)[**deelaundry**](http://deelaundry.livejournal.com/).

  
 **The Cup**

  
The silver cup has always been there on his grandmother's mantel, shining in the summer light that flows through the lace-curtained windows, but many years pass before he's able to reach out and pluck it from the shelf.

The years don't matter. The cup is always there. His _Oma_ keeps it polished, just for him.

He's eight when he finally takes it in his hand. The kid from down the street, Jake Vandersee, double-dog dares him, and so while his mother and grandmother are in the kitchen shelling peas, Greg retrieves the step-stool from the coat closet and climbs up.

From this new angle he can see dark lines engraved on the cup -- perhaps they're words, the one thing in this creaky old house he hasn't read yet. He lifts it from the mantel, and of course it's at that moment his grandmother comes back into the living room, wiping her hands on her bright yellow apron.

She makes him put it back immediately; Jake is sent home and Greg is banished to his room for the rest of the day. The punishment doesn't deter him though -- he can still feel the cup, cool and heavy in his grasp. and a few days later he tries it again. This time it's a long-distance phone call that ends early, and when his mother and grandmother emerge from the hallway his grandmother just sighs.

"Greg ... " his mother begins to scold, but _Oma_ shakes her head.

"It's all right, Blythe," she says. "Once the boy has hold of something, he never lets go."

His dad is in an Asian country this time, and his mom has been jumpy lately, but at _Oma's_ words she quiets down. Greg descends carefully to the floor and turns the silver cup over in his hands.

It's a plain thing, scratched and scuffed and knocked about, and at first Greg is disappointed. There were days he had pretended it was the Holy Grail, sacred and always just out of reach, when he had been brave Arthur and Jake his faithful Lancelot. Then he sees the letters incised into the silver, wavy lines like upside-down "L"s and sideways "U"s, and his interest is renewed. He traces the letters with his right index finger -- with the tiny spark-like shapes carved above them, they remind him of a campfire, the flames flickering up into the night. They don't spell out anything in English, let alone Dutch. Greg knows a little of the language, more than his mother and grandparents think. It's made easier by the fact that his mother sprinkles American words into her imperfect Dutch; he can usually infer the rest from those clues. They use it to ( _argue_ ) discuss things -- things they think he's too young to understand.

He turns the cup over. The bottom is pitted and scarred, but his grandmother has kept it polished, even here, and the number _835_ is clearly visible, stamped into the metal. It will be many more years before he learns that it's an artisan's mark, the seal of the nameless silversmith who made this thing. His visual curiosity satisfied, he turns to his grandmother.

"What is it, _Oma_?"

"It's a wine cup, sweetheart," his grandmother says, "for special occasions."

Greg frowns. This metal container doesn't look anything like the beautifully faceted, cut-glass goblets stored away with the good Sunday china in the cabinet beside the piano.

"It belonged to the people who lived next door to us when I was a little girl. In Leeuwarden."

"Why do you have it?"

Greg's mother looks distinctly uncomfortable. "He's too young -- " she begins, but _Oma_ is already answering the question.

"They left it behind," she says. "In 1942, when they had to go away. My father -- your _overgrootvader_ \-- went looking for the children, and he found it hidden away in a closet."

Greg looks at the cup again. "And they never came back for it?"

"No, honey, they didn't."

And then his mother and his grandmother start _discussing_ again, and all Greg can catch are the words " _geheim_ ," " _gevaar_ ," and " _soldaat_."

" _Dat is het!_ " his mother says firmly, and Greg knows that's the end of the conversation -- for today, at least.

He replaces the silver cup on the mantel, determined to wait as long as he has to for the whole of the story. Still, it's a very long time before he's learned enough about the world to ask the right questions.

* * *

House braces himself against the window and thinks of his grandmother's silver cup as he translates the ancient prayer for his fellows.

He wonders briefly where it is now. Knowing Blythe, it's probably tucked away in the attic -- she'd put most of her mother's things in storage a few weeks after the old woman had died.

He knows now it was a _Kiddush_ cup, that the words etched into its surface were Hebrew and that they'd read " _Koso Shel Elyahu Ha'Navi Ha'Zachur Le'Tov_."

 _Elijah cup of blessed memory_

The fifth wine cup of the Passover _seder_ , poured but not tasted, set by the open door for the prophet should he happen to drop by.

If the German soldiers had happened to drop by while his great-grandfather was still in the neighbor's house, they would have shot him. And yet he had gone anyway, because it was important. And so it would be important to House, too.

He'd learned all he could -- the prayers, the rituals, the medieval belief that every ordinary thing contained a spark of the Divine, and that doing good deeds -- _mitzvot_ \-- in this life released the sparks and brought more good to the world. House had scoffed at that, as he scoffed at most religious mumbo-jumbo.

All his grandmother's story proved was that everything in this world was a crap shoot, a roll of the dice. There were wild cards scattered everywhere, and things weren't always to be found in their proper places.

Taub -- or is it Kutner? -- is saying something, but House isn't listening. A door has opened, and through it has come a new idea.

House turns to his fellows, feeling the familiar rush of discovery, of insight.

He has it now, and he won't let go.

  
~ the end.

  
 ** _NOTES:_**  
[This](http://cgi.ebay.ca/Antique-Silver-Elijah-Beaker-Kiddush-Cup-Germany-C1920_W0QQitemZ220019283621QQihZ012QQcategoryZ35829QQcmdZViewItem) is the silver Elijah's cup I used as a reference.  
The Dutch words House's mother and grandmother use are "secret," "danger," and "soldiers."  
The story of the "divine sparks" is the barest-bones version of the concept of _tikkun olam_ (repairing the world), first proposed by the sixteenth-century Rabbi Isaac Luria. More information about his ideas may be found [here](http://www.myjewishlearning.com/ideas_belief/Kabbalah_and_Mysticism/Overview_Kabbalah_And_Hasidism/Mysticism_Luria_Rob.htm) and [here](http://www.innerfrontier.org/Practices/TikkunOlam.htm).


End file.
